storm was raging around! Was He, then, ignorant of the danger; was He indifferent, to the apprehensions of his disciples? Certainly not; and yet He made no attempt to allay the tempest, or to remove their fears, until they besought Him to do so. He left them for awhile to themselves, in order that they might realize their entire dependence upon his aid, and that He might awaken within them the spirit of earnest and heartfelt supplication. For some time the disciples toiled on in their management of the vessel; they supposed, probably, that they should be able to get it safely through the storm; or, it might be, that they were unwilling to disturb their Master. Impelled, at length, by the urgency of their fears, they came to Christ, and, with impetuous grasp, and powerful remonstrance, they aroused Him from his slumber. Then, and not till then, "He arose and rebuked the wind, and the raging of the waters; and they ceased, and there was a calm."

Now is not this the way in which the Saviour often acts towards us? We find ourselves in a position of great peril and solicitude, and, to our great dismay, Christ appears either unconscious of it, or unconcerned about it. He speaks to us no word of comfort. He puts forth no effort to help us. Why is this? Ah, we are tempted, at such a season, to harbour the suggestion that He is unacquainted with our situation, or to give way to the suspicion that He does not care for our distress. But his omniscient eye never slumbers nor sleeps; and his tender and never-failing love cannot disregard the most trifling event which befalls his people. Nay, so intimate is the relationship between Christ and us, that in all our afflictions He is Himself afflicted; and so sensitive is his regard for us, that whoso toucheth us toucheth the apple of his eye! But his silence is intended to quicken the ardency of our prayers, and to draw us closer to Himself. In moments of ease and prosperity, we too often content

ourselves with being at a distance from Him; and the petitions which we offer at his footstool are cold and lifeless, and soon forgotten. Then difficulties arise, and sorrows gather over us. And a sense of imminent danger and of pressing want makes us thoroughly in earnest. We feel that unless Christ interposes on our behalf, we are lost; and the intense emotion of our hearts breaks forth into strong and unwearied supplications for his merciful and all-powerful aid. The end which He purposed by his mysterious silence being thus accomplished, He hastens to our rescue.

But our ardent appeal to the Saviour for help is too often mingled with unbelief. The terrified disciples, as they listened to the raging wind, and looked at the heaving waters, cried out in their alarm and agitation, "Master, master, we perish!" What! perish with CHRIST on board! "Fear not," said the great Roman to the shipmaster, who was trembling for the safety of his vessel, "thou hast Cæsar for thy passenger." Bold language, but applicable to none but Jesus Christ. It was impossible that the ship which carried Him should sink. But a few days previously to this they had seen Him restore the dead to life, and could they imagine that He was unable or unwilling to succour them in the storm? Therefore his welcome interference on their behalf was accompanied by the gentle reproof, "Where is your faith? How is it that ye have no faith? "No faith." Some faith they had hidden in their hearts: "Why are ye fearful, Ŏ ye of little faith?"--but none ready to their need; not enough to balance their fear.

Ah, dear reader, when Christ arises for our deliverance, has He not often to reproach us for our want of confidence in Him? Too frequently our importunate appeals for his immediate assistance are associated with doubt, and distrust, and despondency! We are ready to give up all hope: we think that we shall be engulfed in the flood which rises around our little

vessel; "as if aught could wreck the soul which is trusting in the Saviour, and which calls upon Him in its distress!" Will He who has died for us ever leave us to perish? Can the tempest harm us while Christ is at our side? Oh, let us not thus dishonour Him, and harass ourselves, by our want of faith; but let us trust in Him at all times, and pour out our hearts before Him, for He is a refuge for us.

But although the disciples ought to have felt that they were safe while in the same ship with their Master, and were justly censurable for their unwarrantable apprehensions, their recognition of his ability to help them must not be overlooked.

Small

as their faith was, it was sufficient to teach them that He was their only refuge in this distress. And blessed are those, in spite of their timidity and unbelief, who when trouble comes, turn to Christ for deliverance! Blessed are those who cry out from the depths of their hearts, "Lord, save us!" even if they add the despairing conclusion, "we perish!" For He who never breaks the bruised reed, nor quenches the smoking flax, and who is wont to give more than we either desire or deserve, will certainly succour them in the hour of their need.

For how boundless is Christ's power and dominion! Will the sea heed the cry of the drowning mariner? Did it obey the command of the Danish king? But even the wind and the waves-untractable to all besides are subject to the Saviour. He who made them can govern them. And He controls not only the material world, but all spiritual agencies. He hushes the stormy waters, and He saves us from the fierce assaults of our hidden foes. Whether our trials be external or internal, whether they are outward difficulties or inward conflicts, Christ's omnipotence can remove them. And if He only speaks the word "Peace," immediately there is "a great calm." Then let us look to Him; let us trust in Him;

D

and He will either take away the trouble which we deprecate, or, what is perhaps a still greater proof of his power, He will sustain us under it.

Cheered, therefore, by these thoughts, let us join in the animating and vigorous strains of the sailorpreacher-good old John Newton, and sing, as we are sailing to the haven of everlasting rest—

'Begone, unbelief! for my Saviour is near,
And for my relief will surely appear;

By prayer let me wrestle, and He will perform;
With Christ in the vessel, I smile at the storm!"

THE BATTLE OF LÜTZEN.

THIS battle was fought on the 16th of November, 1632, between Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, the Emperor's general, and Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, the Lion of the North, and the celebrated champion of Protestantism. According to their usual custom, the Swedes knelt down in their ranks to implore the Divine assistance before the engagement, and immediately afterwards the whole army, led by the king, sang one of Luther's magnificent hymns. A thick fog covered the plain of Lützen in the morning, but cleared off about eleven, when the Swedish cavalry charged the Imperialists. The battle was continued with unexampled fury until the darkness of night separated the combatants. Victory, three times lost and won, at last declared itself in favour of the Swedes. But a dear-bought victory-a mournful triumph. It cost them the life of their noble king. He was wounded while bravely fighting at the head of his troops, and having fallen from his horse, expired beneath the base hands of some barbarous Croats, who came to plunder the dead. On being asked by them his name and rank, he nobly replied, "I am the King of Sweden, and I seal with my blood the Protestant religion and the liberties of Germany.' His last words were,

"Alas! my poor queen." Maria Eleanora of Brandenburgh, to whom he thus alluded, survived him many years, but they were all spent in deploring his loss. History gives him the character of a just and humane, because a Christian conqueror; and his brief but glorious career forms a striking exemplifica

tion of the truth of the promise, "Them that honour me I will honour."

In curtain clouds of mist array'd,
The moon rose dark and gray,
It promised nought of beauty for
The dim November day.

But the gleam of spears may shine
From many a long and banner'd line;
And the trumpet wake to arms,
And earth thrill to war's alarms,
And the battle sign be given,

Ere the sun looks forth from heaven.

To die and conquer, strive and pray,
God gives enough of light;

And thousands, thousands, yet unborn,
Shall bless or wail this fight.

Like thunder clouds that meet in heaven,
By stormy winds together driven,
Two hostile hosts on yonder field,
Must fall or vanquish, win or yield;
For faith and freedom, light and life,
Hang on the issue of this strife.

In grim and mournful silence,
Lies yonder Friedland's camp,
Grim silence only broken by

The sentinel's slow tramp.
A gallant chief-a gallant host,

Their foeman's dread, their country's boast!
But rapine, murder, anguish deep,

The traces of their footsteps keep;

Against them cries the voice of blood,

Upon them rests the curse of God!

The Swedes are bearing onward,

In long defile and slow,

Duke Friedland, strong thy trenches are,
But thou must face this foe..